


Topped Chef - Gail and Padma pt 2

by jenhoffman



Series: Topped Chef: Gail and Padma [2]
Category: Top Chef RPF, padma lakshmi/gail simmons - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Food, Food Porn, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Top Chef
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 22:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30011709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhoffman/pseuds/jenhoffman
Summary: The morning after...This is pt. 2 of the Gail/Padma fanfic I figured already existed but couldn't find on the internet.PSA: I do not know either of these women IRL. Plz don't sue me. Written all in good fun!
Relationships: Padma Lakshmi/Gail Simmons, Padma/Gail
Series: Topped Chef: Gail and Padma [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207766





	Topped Chef - Gail and Padma pt 2

Gail had always been an early riser. When she woke up, the room’s heavy silence suggested it was still dark outside. Padma’s black mermaid hair fell like spilled ink against the pillow to her left. Her right arm was stretched over her face. Whatever light was in the room was caught in the texture of her scar, almost seven inches long and branch-thick. Gail thought it looked like a slice in the fabric of time, an opening to a world beyond reach. _“There is a crack, a crack in everything/That's how the light gets in_ ,” Leonard Cohen said that. 

Quick and quiet as she could, Gail slithered out of bed. A robe hung in the bedroom closet and she cocooned herself inside. Her skin underneath it felt serene, like all her neurons had reset and were flowing in the right direction. 

Her first stop was outside. The screen door slid silently. The balcony was dark. Huge palm trees swayed and when she squinted, she felt like an ant surrounded by colossal mutant dandelions. She pictured giants making wishes on them. The pool looked appealing but when her stomach grumbled, she doubled back and started rummaging through the kitchen. One of Gail’s life-long talents was pillaging fridges. She couldn’t help it— if you invited her into your home, she would inevitably try to make a meal for you from your own scraps. A collage of radishes and pickle jars, half-onions and canned tomatoes. Almost everyone she knew managed to keep a few eggs. Including Padma, thankfully. Gail grabbed those first and held one in her hand. Cool, round, primeval. She smelled each one and put them on the counter. 

She pre-heated the oven and set a stainless steel pan on the lit stove top. It shined like armour. Olive oil — she eyeballed a few tablespoons and diced an onion while the oil warmed. The knife was sharp. Gail wondered whether Padma had her assistant take care of that or whether she’d been in here yesterday, preparing her cutlery for battle like a good soldier. 

When the chopped onions rained onto the hot pan, the sizzle almost gave her goosebumps. It was the best sound in the world because it was a sound you could also smell. Her steady hand mixed them with a wooden spoon until they glistened, nearly translucent, then shook a plastic container of grape tomatoes in afterward. She needed some spices. Padma could be relied upon to bury a spice rack inside her checked bag almost anywhere they traveled. Gail carefully chose salt, pepper, cayenne, za’atar. Sadly, no bell peppers in the fridge or fruit baskets. But the tomatoes were beautiful, and when they finally burst, Gail swirled them with more salt and made a few wells with the back of her spoon. She filled them with cracked eggs and set the pan into the oven. Ten minutes. Enough time to make coffee. Only problem was she didn’t see a coffee maker or any beans. “Damn.” 

“Room service?” Padma’s voice cut through the perfect silence and hit Gail like an arrow. 

“You’re up early.” 

“I could say the same.” They looked at each other for a moment across the kitchen island, each sporting a silly white bathrobe (which looked much shorter on Padma). Two moms, practised at waking at the crack of dawn in order to pack lunches or beat the traffic to set. Two friends. Padma had planned Gail’s bridal shower. Gail had eaten hundreds of meals beside Padma. But this morning was different. “Are you making me breakfast?”

Gail was grateful for the question. “Yes. Eggs. I was going to make you coffee but—”

“I do tea in the morning. I’m kind of particular about it.”

“Oh, are you?” Gail crossed the distance between them and tucked a piece of hair behind Padma’s ear. “Will you show me how?” Padma’s eyes didn’t break contact. Gail kissed her gently and Padma’s lips pushed back harder. She wrapped them around Gail’s and held on for a few glorious moments. 

“I will.” She filled a teapot at the sink and stuck it on the stove. “I should say, I’m mostly particular about the proportions of milk and honey.” She took a jar down from a cabinet. “This is a Masala Chai called Bakri tea.” Gail nodded up at Padma and put her chin in her hands as Padma ladled the tea into an infuser the size of a pocket watch. She put a little in her cupped palm and held it under Gail’s nose. “What do you smell?”

“Cinnamon?” 

“Mhm,” Padma smiled, “Keep going, keep going!”

“Cloves? Ginger? Um, peppercorn?”

“Yes, and?” 

Gail sniffed and shook her head. “I’m out.”

“Cardamom!” 

“Of course! How could I forget cardamom. Am I even qualified for this show?”

“I don’t know. Lookin’ a little shaky,'' Padma teased, retrieving a small carton of whole milk from the fridge. “If I was really trying to impress you, I would steam this.”

“But you’re not trying to impress me?”

“I think I impressed you enough last night.” 

“Really?” Gail raised her eyebrows. She felt intimidated, nervous, and then oddly comforted by Padma’s presence. Surreal might be the word. 

“Cold milk for you.” Padma pecked her cheek as she poured two cups of steaming tea in front of them. “Okay, this is the very scientific part.” She stood above one cup with a plastic bottle of honey held between two hands, like Jackson Pollock over a canvas. She squeezed and whispered, “One, two, three,” watching the honey hit its mark and coil like a golden spool at the bottom of the mug. She garnished her own fingertip with a dollop and held it up to Gail’s mouth. “Taste this.” Gail held out her tongue and sucked Padma’s finger. 

“ _Mmm._ I like that.”

“Do you?” Padma kissed her again. Every kiss made Gail feel more real. Padma’s piano player fingers crept under Gail’s robe and Gail could feel a slight stickiness on the one that gilded below her belly button.

“Yes, I do.” Gail returned the kiss, deeper, pushing her tongue into Padma’s perfect mouth. _BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._ “Fuck, the eggs.”

“Yeah, fuck the eggs.” 

Gail playfully pushed her off. “I refuse to serve you overcooked eggs, Padma Lakshmi, on this morning of all mornings.” Padma whined but Gail ignored her, using the corner of her robe as a makeshift oven mitt and snatching the eggs from inside the stove. “Phew. That was close.” She placed the skillet between them and handed Padma a fork. “Eat.”

“Fine. I’m famished.” Padma poked the prongs of her fork against a bulging yoke. It popped and ran marigold-yellow into the bordering nest of cooked tomatoes. “The eggs are perfect.” She took a bite. “I knew I let you stay over for something.”

“Using me for my eggs?”

“Something like that.” Gail watched Padma eat and there was something erotic about it, the way she savored things.  
“Did I ever tell you my first food memory?” Padma shook her head, mouth full of shakshuka. “Eggs. Like these, but definitely overcooked. I was very, very little—it was the first time I ever cooked on my own, with my mother's supervision—and I made scrambled eggs. I felt like an alchemist or something. You start with these bizarre inedible shells and you put their insides on the stove top and all of a sudden it turns into something delicious. But.”

“But what?”

“But I put raisins and cinnamon in them and made my parents eat them, so that part was not so good.”

“Cinnamon raisin. Very sophisticated pairing.”

“Just add scrambled eggs and I mean, I should have had a michelin star.”

Padma giggled. “Thank you for this,” she took a long sip of her tea and added, “and thank you for last night.”

“I— nothing to thank me for. It was my pleasure.”

“It was both of our pleasure.”

“Hah,” said Gail, looking down at her half-finished breakfast. Padma reached across her plate and held Gail’s hand.

“Did I ever tell _you_ that it used to be really hard for me to have fun during sex?”

“No. Well, I know about the surgery.”

“Surger _ies_ ,” Padma corrected, releasing her hand. Gail winced. “At one point, Salman called me a bad investment.” Padma moved her shakshuka around the plate with her fork. “But the endometriosis had just spread everywhere inside of me. Calcified. Like, have you seen _Stranger Things_?” Gail nodded. “Like, the Upsidedown. Those toxic roots just spreading into every corner.” Her grip tightened on the fork. “I was in pain. I didn’t feel like a woman.” Her eyes shimmered, tears pooling at the corners.

“Don’t confuse emotion with weakness, Padma.” Gail rose and hugged Padma from behind around the shoulders, rocking her back and forth and kissing her neck. “It’s okay.” Padma craned her neck and faced Gail. Gail’s expression was kind and open. Padma noted her faded crow’s feet, the small bags under her dark eyes. She kissed her. She tasted the tomatoes, the onion, the sweetness of the honey and tea. She never wanted to stop kissing her. “You are a woman. You might be my favorite woman.” Gail smiled and straddled Padma on the chair. She pushed her groin forward, grinding playfully on Padma’s lap. Padma pulled the terry cloth tie around Gail’s robe, undoing Gail’s fastidious bow. She grabbed Gail’s tits, cupping one in each hand and squeezing them. Gail bucked against her. Padma’s tongue pushed inside Gail’s mouth and Gail’s breathing grew ragged.

“I want you to fuck me,” said Padma. “Fuck me on the kitchen counter.” Gail nodded, breathing heavily and pulling Padma to her feet. She pushed Padma against the quartz countertop. The flecks of shimmering white stone caught the light of the rising sun outside. The room was bathed in an orange glow. Gail’s mouth traveled from Padma’s lips to her collar bone. She tugged the robe down and exposed the scar on Padma’s arm. Lightly, she traced her finger down its ridges and then kissed each end with reverence. Her hand slid between Padma’s legs. 

“Like this?” Padma could almost feel the texture of Gail’s raspy words on her neck. 

“Yes, like that. Slow for me.” Gail nodded into Padma’s shoulder. Her hand pushed inside and pulled. It was agonizing in the best way possible. Padma could feel her own clit pulsing, engorged just above Gail’s thumb. “Fuck, Gail. Where did you learn how to—”

“Shh… how’s that?” Gail’s rhythm got harder, more insistent.

Padma inhaled Gail’s hair, mint and fresh laundry. “That’s— that’s perfect— yes, fuck me.” Padma closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of Gail’s body. Soft, elegant, curvy. _How did this happen?_  
It was a little bit like churning butter or mixing the perfect pasta dough. There was a precision and a care in Gail’s execution. She was methodical but impassioned, and Padma marveled at the sheer strength in her arm. The patience behind every stroke. Padma felt herself getting close. Gail’s thumb pressed against Padma’s clit. A jolt shot up Padma’s backbone and straight through her toes. “Jesus, Gail.”

Gail got on her knees. Padma looked down at her. The devastating cheekbones and that magical jaw. Padma widened her stance, inviting Gail’s open mouth. Gail’s tongue replaced where her thumb print had been, circling, swirling. Her fingers pumped in and out. It took seconds. She’d always been a good eater. Padma’s voice cracked as she came— it echoed off the high ceilings, and Gail felt Padma’s wet pussy convulse on the tip of her chin. The juice was like peaches. Standing up, Gail’s legs wobbled beneath her. Her breath was lost. Padma hugged her close and whispered in her ear, “Come shower with me.”


End file.
